Aporia
by Lnzy1
Summary: The day the new Allspark came into being was the day Sam Witwicky died. But a millennia later on a renewed Cybertron, a new life is sparked; One with green optics and memories of another world. AU movieverse.
1. Epilogue

_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

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_Epilogue._

"To the philosopher, death is but the next great adventure." ~ J.K. Rowling

* * *

The progression was slow at first; so much so that it was not detected until five years after the Fallen had been thwarted. It was Bumblebee who noticed the change first and quite by accident. They had thought it was merely the flu, as it was that time of the year, but as Sam lay in his bed delirious from a raging fever, Bumblebee's scanners blipped. At first it seemed like nothing but a glitch, but then they blipped again, stronger this time. His scanners picked up faint surges of energy for several hours, all of them emanating from Sam's bedroom.

He took his charge to Ratchet the next morning. Whatever the medic found, it was not the flu. There was no name for it; as such a thing had never happened before. But Sam's body was changing, everything down to the very atoms that made up his body. Everything was changing. But to what…no one could say.

First, his eyes, once a mellow brown, turned bright green. Then his hair began to fall out, becoming thinner and thinner and the boy picked up the habit of wearing a sad grey little beanie to cover his affliction. His parents were frantic and despite all that Ratchet had said them, they still sent Sam to every specialist they could find.

No one could find what was causing Sam's symptoms.

And one night as Sam and Mikeala lay in bed together, the first surge occurred. Mikeala later recalled the horrifying event: she had fallen asleep in Sam's arms when he suddenly went ridged and she felt as thought she was being electrocuted. Pulling herself from the boy, she looked down to see him 'going Super Saiyan' as she described it. His body went into hectic spasms and his skin seemed to glow, his eyes were afire with so many things; pain…fear…

The night after the first surge, Sam's fingernails fell off and the first signs of crystallization appeared. At fist, it looked like fish scales were growing atop Sam's skin, but the truth was far more disturbing. And with every new surge episode, the green crystals spread. By the end of the year, Sam's entire left arm had been crystallized.

It was a dark time. Everyone had a sense of what was happening and how it would ultimately end…but no one spoke of it. Mikeala went beyond her obligations to spend every moment she could with Sam, who was placed in protective custody, always making him smile if only for a moment. Bumblebee was never two steps away from Sam, always standing by to help him if needed, to listen to him when he wanted to talk, and to comfort him when it all became too much for his young mind to handle. There were many nights when the boy would fall asleep in Bumblebee's driver's seat after having another melt down.

His parents never stopped fighting, never stopped looking for something to cure their son. No one could tell them their son was dieing. Optimus Prime was at a loss as to what they could do, but ultimately all they managed was to make what remained of Sam's time as enjoyable and comfortable as possible.

It was a Saturday night when Sam finally slipped away.

Too much of his body had been consumed by the crystallization process and his tired heart gave one last feeble pump before it stilled forever. He was with Mikeala and Bumblebee, watching a movie. How Mikeala cried. It was horrible for everyone. And Bumblebee felt as if he had failed. No one seemed to convince him otherwise.

Sam's life finally extinguished, the crystals took over, transforming the human's form into a green crystallite that, to everyone shock, radiated with Allspark energy. There might have been some poetic meaning behind Sam's death and the Allspark's rejuvenation, but it meant nothing to Bumblebee. Sam was gone and he was never coming back.

* * *

Author's notes: Short little epilouge to a much larger story. This idea came quite randomly my second shift at my new job at a grocery store bakery and I wrote it down on a little piece of paper. Please leave a review if you'd like and let me know what you think.


	2. Round Hole and a Square Peg

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for the favs, alerts, and reviews everyone! They're very much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter.

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_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

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_Chapter one: Round Hole and a Square Peg_

"What is necessary to change a person is to change his awareness of himself." ~ Abraham H. Maslow

* * *

Since the cycle he was sparked, Unit D-17 was considered to be an odd one. Unlike his fellow spark mates in the D group, or the A-C groups for that matter, he did not like to interact with others and constantly shied away from the caretakers who over saw the growing populous of new Sparks in the Foundry. When not being instructed on various subjects, refueling, or recharging, he spent his time solving the Foundry's large collection of puzzle boxes. He spoke little, unlike the others who were at the age in their development that they seemed to do nothing but.

The caretakers were worried.

But no discernable malfunctions were ever found and his behavior was written off as a personality glitch that would work itself out in time. In the mean time, his caretakers would make sure he got equal opportunity to advance with the others. One caretaker in particular named Servo, was determined to see D-17 flourish. Sparklings were too precious to just be tossed aside because of a glitch; so many vorns of war and death, too long without new Sparks. D-17 was too dear to be rejected.

Cybertron had been a mere shell of its former beauty, lost without the Allspark to give it life and energy. But the Cube had been destroyed on a distant planet and the Autobot leader had called to them from the edge of the universe to the small blue pearl of a world called earth. There, where the Allspark had been extinguished, a new one was born. None but a few knew where the new Allspark came from, but after so long without a home, no one dared to question it. Cybertron was renewed and the Decepticons successfully driven to the edge of space where the last remnants of war were being fought. The Cybertronian Armada, lead by Optimus Prime, kept Cybertron safe from the war. It was the duty of Mechs like Servo to oversee the well being of the new generation.

"I don't want to," said D-17 as Servo handed him a canister of Energon. Around them, the other Sparkling happily gulped down their rations, a special mix of low grade formulated for their young systems, all under the watchful optics of their caretakers. "It tastes funny…"

Servo suppressed a sigh. It was routine by now: D-17, in his oddball way, did not like Energon. Or the taste of it, in any case, and refused to drink any under his own volition. Since his creation, he had been forced fueled through a direct line into his tank. But every once in a while, Servo would try the canister to see if the little one changed his mind.

He had not.

"It's not good to refuse your Energon," he told the young mech. "You need it."

D-17 sat at an empty table alone, away from the others, as was his want, and kicked his short legs impatiently. "I don't want it."

"All right. But I had to try," Servo rose from his seat on the other side of the table and walked around to stand beside his charge, pulling a fuel line from subspace as he did so. D-17 did not protest or flinch as Servo connected the line to his side and poured the Energon from the canister into the line. Bright green optics watched as the pastel colored fuel ran down the line and emptied into his fuel tank. Disconnecting the line, Servo stood back onto his feet and observed the charcoal colored sparkling before him. "One of these cycles you're going to have to take your fuel like an upgraded Mech."

"Can I go play?" D-17 asked, either having not heard Servo's statement or choosing to ignore it. Servo suspected the later.

Servo nodded ruefully and waved the little one off. "Yes, you may."

The Mech watched the small one toddle off towards the rack of puzzle boxes and pull one down, immediately engrossing himself in it. If nothing else, Servo consoled himself, D-17 would be nothing if a fine engineer the way he was obsessed with those puzzle boxes.

* * *

He did not know why, but ever since he could remember, _really_ remember, nothing felt right to him. Everything felt wrong and unfamiliar. Even him. Besides all he felt, he knew he was different from the others by the simple way he looked. The others all had bright blue optics, a few had yellow, but his…his were green.

But he liked green. It felt familiar. It felt…safe.

When the larger metal people asked if he wanted blue or yellow optics like the others, he had panicked. No. He screamed at them and yelled. They wanted to change him, to make him something he was not. If he got different optics, he was afraid he would not remember the dreams.

He wanted to remember the dreams.

They could not change him…they could not. The dreams were the only thing besides the color of his optics that was familiar. The dreams made him feel better, but also sad at the same time.

He remembered faces and voices of people. He was happy when he thought of them, but sad when he remembered they were dreams and not real. Thos faces were not real. But he also remembered the monsters. They were real. He knew they were. Because he heard the others say their names when they thought they were not paying attention.

Decepticons.

The word itself was frightening and on more then one occasion he had scared himself into a panic by remembering them from his dreams. The large metal person who called himself Servo was there, trying to calm him down. Servo was a nice person, but he did not feel familiar. He felt…alien. Like the others. So no matter how hard Servo tried to be nice and to be his friend…he would not let him. He did not have any friends…

He was alone. He did not exactly enjoy being alone, but he preferred it over playing with the others. So he played with the puzzle boxes, their shape and the symbols covering them…they were familiar too, but in a vague way.

They called him D-17. He hated that name and did not like answering to it. When he had told Servo this, the metal person was a little mad.

He got mad a lot.

"Well then," he had said to him. "What do you want to be called?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember…remember what?"

"…I can't remember my real name anymore."

"You're 'real name'…?"

"Yeah. I can hear it in my head…but it sounds all fuzzy."

Servo was quiet for a long moment as he thought about that. "Well then…what should we call you until you remember then?"

"…um." He decided that he would settle for D-17 until he remembered.

* * *

D-14 was a purple femme who, for whatever reason, took a liking to D-17. But the feeling was not mutual. In fact, one could accurately claim that D-17 was scared of the femme. She was a little smaller then him and had vibrant yellow optics as well as a somewhat overbearing personality.

As was his want, D-17 was in the midst of one of his favorite puzzle boxes, sitting quietly in a corner, when it was abruptly pulled from his hands. His concentration snapped and he looked around frantically for his toy. He spotted it in the hands of D-14 who stood above him and looked downward at the little Mech.

"Why do you always play with these?" She asked.

"Because I like them," said the little Mech. "Now give it back!"

She pulled away, looking at the cube shaped toy in her hands. "But they're so boring!"

"No they're not," D-17 defended, reaching out feebly towards his prized puzzle box. "And why do you care? You don't have to play with them if you don't want to."

She looked at him from the corner of her optics. "You're really weird."

D-17 sat back. "I am not."

"Yes you are," said the femme. "Everyone thinks so."

He did not know why, but he did not like the idea of being considered weird. He wasn't weird. He wasn't. They were. Everyone else was the weird ones. The aliens. "I'm not weird," D-17 insisted, his voice betraying the hurt he felt. "I'm just not…"

"You're not like us," finished D-14. She had a look of smugness about her face that he did not like. He did not like being looked down upon.

"That's not a bad thing," he said defiantly. "It's not."

"Oh yes it is. How are you ever going to get adopted if you're weird?" She tucked the cube beneath her arm and pointed at him as if his weirdness was a physical attribute she could point out. "No one wants a weird sparkling to take care of."

D-17 glared at the little femme. "Well, I don't want to be adopted."

D-14's smug look was gone from her face and she stilled. A look of bemused shock graced her features as she beheld the little Mech before her as if he had suddenly spouted tentacles. "What?"

"I don't want to be adopted," he told her simply. And it was true. He had no desire to be placed in the care of other Mechs. In fact, he dreaded the idea. Ever since learning that all Sparklings, once they reached their first upgrade, were then eligible to be adopted by Mechs or Femmes. D-17 was scared, but he did not know why. He felt instinctually that if he was adopted that the ones looking for him would not find him. He had no reason to feel that way…he just did. "I don't wanna…"

He never told anyone because he knew they would react like D-14 was at that moment.

"Wha….well of course you do! Everyone does!"

He looked down at the floor, voice warbling meekly. "Not me."

"So then what are you gonna do then? Stay here and play with puzzles until your processor rusts?"

"Maybe I will," He said, suddenly feeling angry. He looked up at D-14. "And besides, no one would want a mean stupid femme like you!"

His words drew the instant ire of the femme.

D-14 drew herself up and yelled as she threw the puzzle box at D-17 with all her might. It struck him in the forehead and knocked him backwards. At first he did not understand what had happened and then an odd and very unpleasant sensation registered through his processor. He immediately began to wail. His hands rose up to cover the spot on his forehead and he felt a large dent there and a crack. He felt something warm pour out and his panic surged.

Bleeding…he was bleeding. Dieing…he was going to die…

He didn't see D-14 run away in a panic or see several caretakers rush to his side, asking him things and grabbing his hands and trying to pull them away from the injury. All he knew was pain. That was, until he saw a bright flash of light and several tall figures with optics like fire, speaking to him with words he did not understand. And the dreams so dear to him began to play in his mind again, except now they played with amazing clarity. A calmness overtook him and his limbs went limp.

As he was being carried to the medic's station, D-17 weakly called out to a guardian he did not realize he had and in a language he did not realize he knew.

"_B-bumble…bee…_"

* * *

His limbs were still trembling, even a joor after he sustained his injury. He had never been hurt like that before and it scared him. It reminded him of something bad, really bad…and it scared him more. Servo held the Sparkling in his arms while the Foundry medic whipped the last remnant of Energon from his forehead.

"Well little guy," the medic said, leaning down to look into D-17 optics. "You are now the proud owner of one very impressive dent. That little femme has quiet a throwing arm."

"Will you be able to repair it?" asked Servo.

"I have done what I am authorized to do," said the medic as he turned away and walked towards a table. "I don't have medical clearance to perform that kind of repair on a stage one Sparkling. Once he has his first upgrade then I'll be able to treat him. The metal there will have to be reformed. Likely replaced."

"Where do we have that done?"

"Same place his shell was forged. There is a medical practice stationed on the east wing of the Hall of Ancients," said the medic as he turned back around and handed Servo a data pad. "I am friends with one of the practitioners there and he is certified to repair first stagers. Go see him and he can patch bright optics here up as good as new."

The two metal persons talked to one another and D-17 sat limply in Servo's arms as his vents softly sucked in and blew out puffs of air. His optics gazed off into the distance as his mind nibbled on the clarity of the dreams. A conviction rose in him and he knew for certain that his precious dreams were no longer that. They were real. His precious dreams were no longer simple dreams…they were real.

A yellow Mech with very gentle hands. He remembered him best of all and thinking of him made his spark ache. But not in a bad way, not really. He missed him. He did not know you could miss someone you couldn't really remember ever meeting…

"Alright," Servo said as he rose to his feet. Addressing the Sparkling in his arms, he asked, "Ready to go see the doctor D-17?"

For the first time since being struck in the head by D-14, D-17 stirred and gazed up into Servo's face with a look of wonder. "That's not my name."

Servo felt the cycle's events hang off his shoulders like a counterweight, drawing him down and making him feel tired. "Oh Primus, not this again," he replied, exasperated. He walked out the medic's station and began heading for the transport dock, sending a message to the Foundry overseer as he did so. "Alright then, did you remember your real name then?"

"Yes," the small Mech said, completely missing the sarcasm of Servo's tone. "My name is _Sam._"

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Author's Notes (2): Thanks for reading everyone and I hope I haven't confused you all too much. Please leave a review and let me know what you think.


	3. Of Things We Once Remembered

Author's Notes: I am utterly blown away by the overwhelmingly positive response this has gotten. Serious...I'm really surprised. I need to give a thank you shout out to Vege_chan on Live journal for recommending this story to other people. I appreciate the publicity.

Also, a few of you commented about the apparent Prologue/Epilogue mix up and I felt it needed an explanation. Despite how it might appear, I actually did that on purpose in my own attempt to be witty and overly philosophical. You see, despite it being the first part to a story, in the most strictest sense it is also the ending of a story: AKA Sam's life. Sorry if you guys got confused. I'll try to tone down the philosophical elements in the future...when I feel like it and if it doesn't help the story along. I also apologize for any and all spelling or grammatical errors. I haven't had much luck with consistent Betas and am still searching.

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_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

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Chapter Two: Of Things We Once Remembered.

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen. " ~Edward de Bono

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Everyone on the transport was staring at him. Servo pretended not to notice the tram's populous ogling the little Mech in his lap, but Sam noticed. He knew by now that he and those of the new Generation were considered a treasure and were protected fiercely. And were somewhat of a novelty. However, having so many optics on him, looking him over, and stopping to see his bright green optics…well it was not a pleasant feeling. It made him feel uneasy to be the center of focus. He did not want attention, he wanted a quiet corner and a puzzle box.

No. That was not quite true. At least not anymore…

His spark tugged faintly and he knew what he wanted without having to give it a name or devote any cognitive thought: Bumblebee…he wanted to see Bumblebee. But he did not know where on this planet his friend could be or where to even begin looking. And there was a more pressing problem to consider: Servo would never let Sam out of his sights long enough for him to look for Bumblebee. Regardless, he held onto the thing thread of hope that he would get the chance. And who knew, maybe…

Maybe Servo knew where Bumblebee was.

"Servo," Sam asked, looking up at the underside of the Mech's chin. "Do you know where _Bumblebee_ is?"

His caretakers head snapped down as if whatever Sam had said was something extremely inappropriate. "What did you say?" He asked, his voice low and careful. His optics narrowed and for a fearful moment, Sam wished he had never spoken.

"…_Bumblebee_…" said Sam timidly, mentally retreating into himself and hoping dearly he would not get in trouble. He did not like being in trouble.

"Is there something wrong?" Servo asked, suddenly fearful and very attentive. He pulled the Sparkling from his lap and turned him to face him, looking him over and scanning furiously. "Do you feel alright? Are your systems malfunctioning?"

"…no," replied Sam. "Why?"

"You're talking weird. Maybe it's a side effect from that dent," Servo seemed to be speaking more to himself then to Sam and it was a little odd to see his caretaker in such a fit of near panic. "We need to get a doctor to look at you."

The rest of the trip consisted of Servo muttering to himself while he inspected Sam every quarter breem to make sure he had not abruptly deteriorated or started smoking. Mechs and the rare femme boarded and disembarked from the transport while only a few passengers remained constant. One such passenger, a dark blue armored Mech, had been watching them with disconcerting intensity for the majority of their trip. After the tram began to move after having just unloaded several passengers, he stood from his seat and walked over to Servo and Sa,, taking a seat across from them.

"Don't see many of you guys out and about the city," the Mech commented, looking down at Sam briefly and he smiled sadly at him. "It still seems so impossible to have new sparks around after so long..."

Sam looked up to see Servo's face twitched into a smile, barely concealed agitation underneath. He apparently did not trust the stranger. "Normally we don't risk the little ones by taking them out before they've had their first upgrade, but this one needs to have his head looked at."

"…oh?" The dark blue Mech looked back at Sam and then noticed the crack and large dent on his forehead. "Oh, well that must've hurt quite a bit."

"It did." Sam replied frankly, sensing a strange familiarity from the Mech. Blue. That shade of blue. He knew that color.

The blue Mech smiled. "Well, I hope the doctor can fix you up right, then." A pause. "Green optics," he mused. "Such an unusually color..."

"Yes," Servo replied, his earlier apprehension slowly fading. "He refuses to allow us to change them into a traditional color. He likes them the way they are."

The Mech laughed. "He'll certainly be a novelty come time to find him a home."

"It could go either way for him," Servo admitted a little sadly. "Most potential guardians might find it a bit…odd."

"So he's a little oddball then, eh?"

"Very much so."

"Meh," the stranger replied nonchalantly. "I know plenty of Mech were straight out loons as Sparklings. All of them upgraded into fine, decent Mechs. You should have high hopes for this one. Who knows, he might be the next Emirate."

Servo laughed at that. Sam then realized that he barely ever seemed to laugh. Honestly, Sam thought it was beyond his abilities. "Personally, I think he'll be more mechanically inclined."

"A little engineer then?" The new Mech seemed tickled by that and chuckled. "A fine occupation of any."

Sam had not looked away from the stranger since he sat down, studying his frame. He was so familiar. Was he part of his dreams? He remembered that shade of blue. Bright and sharp…like electricity.

"Do you know _Bumblebee_?" Sam blurted without thought. Sam felt Servo twitch under him. The new Mech however bore an expression that Sam was not familiar with. It almost looked…blank.

"_Bumblebee_…?"

"Now stop that," Servo told him sternly. "You shouldn't be asking folks such silly questions. When we see the doctor we'll have him check your voice box. I think you might have a glitch." The new Mech continued to stare at him, apparently unsure what to make of him. Sam hoped he did not upset him. He rather liked the blue bot. He was nice.

The transport slowed to a smooth stop and a monotone voice announced their location. Servo stood, Sam resting in his arms, and he turned to the blue Mech. "It was very nice talking to you."

The blue bot seemed to have broken from his stupor and stood. "Oh. Yes, you too. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name…"

"Servo. And this is D-17."

"I'm Jolt," said the Mech. He looked at Sam and smiled. "It was very nice meeting you…D-17."

Sam shifted in Servo's arms. "That's not my real name…"

Jolt tilted his head, curious. A spark of something lit his optics like fire. No…like electricity.

"D-17, I said not to-"

"…it's _Sam_."

Instead of looking weird the way he had when he had mentioned Bumblebee, Jolt looked…happy. He grinned and bowed his head ever so slightly before looking back at the caretaker. "Take care of that one, won't you?" he said as the two of them disembarked. "He's a special one."

Before Servo could reply, the doors shut and the transport moved ahead down the line and Jolt with it. He stood there with Sam in his arms, watching as the transport shuttle zoomed off further into the city. "Well," he said at last, sounding confused. "He was a strange one."

"I like him," Sam said, wiggling a little. "He's nice."

Servo smiled. "You take a likening to the strangest things," he said. "One can only hope you like the doctor just as much."

* * *

The Hall of Ancients, despite its name, was fairly new. The original structure had been destroyed during the Great War and been rebuilt not long after the decision to recolonize Cybertron was made. Despite that, the complex was very impressive; showcasing the best of Cybertronian engineering and architecture. Inside the Hall of Ancients, the Allspark was kept. It was here in this hallow place that the new generation was sparked and their shells forged from precious metals. As was its name, the Hall of Ancients was decorated in a way to make those wandering its parameter feel as if they were in the presence of something grand and glorious. And truly they were.

Sam did not like it. It was too big, too intimidating. And there was a strange energy coming from somewhere within that made his spark quiver. He did not like it at all.

Lucky enough for him, their destination was not into the Hall itself, but rather towards the medical wing of the complex. There, Servo explained his presence to the clerk and was instructed to wait until the doctor came to fetch him. As they waited, Sam looked all around him as Mechs or all sizes and colors and designs walked to and from different rooms, speaking fast and gesturing. It did not take long for Sam to notice several of the Mechs walking around were of similar design and only their color seemed to change. He saw red and blue and green and even black. Strangely enough, he found himself scanning the crowd for a specific color, but he did not know which one. He just knew he would know it when he saw it.

"Who are they?" Sam asked, pointing to the Mechs.

Servo followed Sam's line of sight. "Those are the doctors."

"How come they all look the same?"

"All medical programmed Mechs are that model. Whatever your function, that is what model you will be."

"So…will I have one too?"

"Yes, when you have your final upgrade. You will choose what you want to be."

"Is that the same for everyone?" Sam asked.

"Not necessarily. Not every Mech now performs the same function they were designed for when they were first sparked. The war made us all soldiers and after it was over, some choose different functions."

"Were you a soldier?"

"Yes."

"Was it scary?"

"At times," Servo said, running his hand over the top of Sam's head. "But you're too young to worry about things like that. You'll learn about the war when you're older."

"Will I be a soldier?"

"Not if you don't want to," he said and then placed his hand over Sam's mouth. "Now shush."

Sam complied with Servo's command and decided to continue to scan the area for the particular color. The design of the doctors was familiar, so familiar, in the same way Jolt had been. There was something there that he could not quiet see or make out, but he knew whatever he was looking for was there. Somewhere. He just had to wait and keep his optics open. Green optics scanned once more and he spotted an odd color, _the_ color, and a jolt of something ran through him. Realization and remembrance washed over his processor. There! It was him!

Ratchet!

"_Ratchet_!"

"Hey!" Sam leaped from Servo's arms and ran towards the medic. It was him, he remembered. Ratchet! He dodged through large feet, ignoring the startled noises of the older Mechs as he barreled through the crowd. Reaching the Mech, Sam grabbed onto his leg, shivering. "_Ratchet_!"

And the world suddenly felt right to him, he felt an overwhelming sense of security that made him feel completely like mush and…

"Who are you?" The voice made Sam freeze and his spark fell. He looked up into the Mech's face and a horrid realization passed through him. It was not Ratchet. He looked like him, but his color was wrong. He was not the weird greenish yellow. He was just green. The sense of security dried up in an instant and Sam suddenly felt very scared and he backed away, very much alarmed. The Mech looked down at him with kind optics, slowly lowering himself to Sam's level. "Where did you come from, little one?"

"You're not _Ratchet_…" Sam whimpered, his insides churning with emotion.

The Mech tilted his head in confusion. "…Who?"

"D-17!" Servo ran up beside Sam and scooped him up. "What do you thing you are doing?"

"Not _Ratchet_…" Sam murmured, seeming to have fallen a state of mild shock. Not Ratchet. Not Ratchet…where was Ratchet…?

"I am very sorry sir," Servo said to Not-Ratchet. "He's a bit confused at the moment. He's sustained a head injury and hasn't been himself all cycle..."

The Not-Ratchet reached out and ran a gentle finger over Sam's forehead, inspecting the crack there, before trailing down the side of his face and light scratching under his chin. Sam did not respond to the touch, still too broken up over the Mech not being who he wanted him to be. "No harm done," Not-Ratchet assured the caretaker. "That is quite the scrap. Have you been attended to yet?"

"We are waiting for the Doctor. His name is Quickfire."

"I'll message him and see if I can't get him down here a little faster."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Not-Ratchet left, disappearing into the crowd and Servo returned to their place to wait for the doctor.

* * *

First Aid entered the lab and placed his data pads down atop the nearest table. Nearby, his partner was busying himself with a broken scanner. Without turning to face him, the Mech called out, "Did you get the reports back?"

"Yeah," First Aid replied. "No change."

"Drat. Maybe I can recalibrate the dampeners to compensate...hey, hand me that spanner will you?"

"Wheeljack?" Firs Aid walked over to stand next to his partner and handed him the requested spanner. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said the Mech, his optics never wavering from his work. "Ask away."

"You and Ratchet both spent some time on that planet we found the Allspark on right?"

"_Earth_."

"Huh?"

"The planet's name is _Earth_. Nice place. Very green. Lots of vegetation. Didn't much care of the blizzards though. You were saying?"

"Oh, well I just had a rather..._interesting_ encounter with a Sparkling in the lobby."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He asked me if I knew who _Ratchet_ was. It sounded like the Earth Language I hear the boss mutter in sometimes—you know, when he gets _really_ angry and doesn't think anyone's around?—so I figured you'd know if it was and what it means."

Wheeljack looked away from his work and regarded First Aid in bemusement. "_Ratchet,_ you said?"

"That's right."

The engineer suddenly looked very intrigued, mystified even. "How very unusual…"

"What?" First Aid asked. "What is?"

"Well...It's strange that a Sparkling would know that word, or English entirely for that matter," Wheeljack said with an intense look of intrigue. "_Ratchet_ was Ratchet's English designation during the time he and Optimus Prime's unit were on Earth."

* * *


	4. Discover the Present

Author's Notes: Thanks again for all the great reviews everyone. I don't know how long I can keep up the constant updates, but I will do my level best. Please leave a review if you read and let me know what you think. Thanks again everyone.

* * *

_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

_**

* * *

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Chapter Three: Discover the Present

"Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood." ~ Marie Curie

* * *

Things went from bad to worse in the small span of a breem. Sam knew he wanted to be anywhere but there. He could and would live with a dented forehead; it was just a dent after all. He just desperately wanted to get away from the metal slab that Servo and the doctor were trying to hold him to. Something deep inside his head was screaming at him, basic understanding of the world telling him 'Bad. Bad. It's bad. Metal slabs are bad.'

He had no idea where the urgent impulses were coming from or why they were so urgent or why he was so terrified, but at that moment Sam was far from a stable frame of mind to be able to process anything. He didn't want the new doctor. His hands were cold and his face was different. He didn't look like Ratchet or even the Not-Ratchets walking around the lobby. Sam squirmed and kicked as Servo and the doctor tried to get a hold of him long enough to secure him to the medical berth. _No, no, no, no, no…._

"NO!" Sam cried, giving the air a firm kick that just barely missed Servo's face.

"Hey now!" he said. "Stop that! Calm down D-17!"

"Calm down," Quickfire told him in a calming voice that sounded far too forced to do any real good. He was frustrated with Sam's wild –almost animal—behavior. What could possibly be causing such a reaction? He feared the worst. The crack in his helm must have been affecting his processor far more then either he or Servo thought. "Stop struggling, we're only trying to help..."

"LET GO! LET GO!" Sam felt frantic. He did not want to be held down. He did not want to be operated on. They couldn't, he wouldn't let them. Where was Bumblebee? He said he would protect him from monsters. From this…

And Ratchet. Ratchet could help him too, but he wasn't there. No one was. He was scared. Very scared.

He began to wail. "_RATCHET! RATCHET_!"

His screams only seemed to make his tormentors work more fervently.

* * *

Of all his many vorns of life, Ratchet was not sure anything could surprise him anymore. Across the universe he had been witness to tragedies and miracles…more so the former then the latter. A simple truth he had reconciled with long ago. He considered himself a capable Mech of sound judgment and more sense then the average bot. However, when he received Wheeljack's bizarre message telling of his assistant's odd encounter with a Sparkling earlier that cycle, Ratchet was indeed surprised.

But more so, he was curious.

A Sparkling knowing English was odd enough, but to know his Earth designation? That was impossible. But there was one possible explanation…

He had thought to send a message to Quickfire, the young one's overseeing physician, about dropping in on his examination to possibly observe, he needed to see this strange new Spark at once. Unfortunately, he found the doctor's comm. link blocked. A clear message that he was currently occupied. How much concentration did an examination and basic repair require? The cycle had begun so routinely and now…

Curiosity burned at his circuits and he decided to eaves drop anyhow. He was the second most senior medic in the practice and such a position did come with certain perks. He was nearing his colleague's lab when he heard a disconcerting noise; the sound of a screaming Sparkling. Quickening his step, the closer he came to Quickfire's office, the clearer the screams became. Something had gone horribly wrong…

…but if so why had Quickfire not called a code 13? Why had he not sent for assistance or…

"_RATCHET! RATCHET_!" His steps faltered as he heard his name, his _Earth_ name, being screamed into the air by the voice of a Sparkling, laced with terror, and in crystal clear English. Logic offered no answer and before he could ponder more possibilities he heard the screams again.

"_BUMBLEBEE_!"

What in the pit was going on in there…?

Ratchet entered the room to see a Foundry Mech and Quickfire struggling to hold down a hopelessly frantic charcoal grey Sparkling. The small form was thrashing wildly, appearing to try and free itself. Before he could even announce his presence or offer his help, the little Sparkling turned his head and looked right at him with vibrant green optics. That was a bit unexpected…more so was the way those small optics seemed to burn into him as if looking straight through his armor at something behind him.

But then, Ratchet watched as the fear subsided into a pathetically pleading look. The child was exceedingly petrified.

"_Ratchet_!" His name being called out so desperately by one so small…it almost physically hurt. Distracted by his appearance, the two older Mechs' momentary loss of attention allowed the young bot to finally jerk himself free of their many hands and hop down off of the table, tumbling and falling over himself. The caretaker and doctor scrambled to grab the fleeing young one, but he was already across the room and began to positively claw at Ratchet's knees. "_Ratchet! Ratchet!" _

Ratchet saw a joyous glow radiated from the Sparkling as he attached himself to the medic's leg, little hands grabbing onto spaces in his armor and holding on for dear life. He whirled and warbled happily at him, pressing his dented forehead to the medic's shines. Ratchet was too stunned to come up with a response…

"Sir, please, I'm so sorry," Quickfire said to him as he approached and tried to pull the little one off his leg, but found it a difficult task. "We have to restrain him, he seems to be in shock. His processor could be crashing!"

"Will he be OK?" The Foundry Mech seemed near hysterics. Ratchet kept a cool head, even as the Sparkling began to wail hysterically, little hands reaching out to him, beseeching him, as he was pulled away.

"_RATCHET! RATCHET_! Don't let them take me please!" Something in the little one's voice made Ratchet feel wretched. Should he know that little Spark? It was impossible that he would. He knew many Sparklings, he had treated hundreds of them. Even if he did not know this one…Ratchet felt compelled to not leave him in such a terrified state. If his presence benefited the overall objective, he would stay. So he did. Following the other Mechs as they returned to the table to restrain the young Mech to the berth, the dark grey armor wiggling as he warbled and whine feebly, Ratchet turned to Quickfire and asked of the doctor with an authoritative tone, "What caused this?"

"He was brought in to have that dent fixed, but when we tried to get him to hold still long enough to secure him, he started panicking."

"How was he hurt initially?"

"A little Femme threw a puzzle box at him," explained the Foundry Mech. "He's been acting stranger ever since."

Ratchet reached out and placed a hand on the Sparkling's small head and his touch had an immediate calming effect. The fear subsided somewhat and the child looked up at him as if he were something to admire. Once he was successfully retrained, though still blatantly terrified, Quickfire began to examine the crack atop his helm. Ratchet kept his hand on the Sparkling's head, a gentle reassurance if only to keep him from wailing so horribly. "Strang_er_?" Ratchet asked.

"He's always been a bit odd," the Mech admitted, clearly worried. "But this is beyond anything he's ever done…he's always been very quiet and well behaved."

"What odd behavior in particular? Can you pin point them explicitly?"

"Easily: he refuses his unit name and babbles incoherently to himself sometime when he doesn't think anyone's listening. He doesn't play with the others or speak that much unless you talk to him first. He spends most of his time playing with puzzles. And he doesn't like Energon."

That made Ratchet pause, if only because the absolute absurdity of it. "He…doesn't like Energon? How can that be?"

"Don't ask me, I don't have any medical programming. He says it tastes funny," the Foundry Mech said, agreeing wordlessly that the fact was entirely odd. "He's been force fueled by a direct line essentially since he was sparked."

Ratchet turned back to the little Spark laying immobile atop the examination berth, green optics continuing to stare up at him in wonder. When their optics met, he gave Ratchet a happy little chirp. "Hi…" the Sparkling said meekly. "You're _Ratchet._ I know you."

Ratchet was silent for a moment, his face betraying nothing. His lack of visible response was apparently perceived as a bad omen because the Sparkling's suddenly looked worried. Before he had a chance to begin his wailing anew, Ratchet nodded. "Yes," he said gently. "That is my _Earth_ designation. Here I go by Ratchet."

The Sparkling looked ecstatic and then grew confused. "_Earth_?"

So he knew English words, yet had no knowledge of Earth. "You don't know it?" he asked. "You don't know about _Earth_?"

"…no. I don't think I do…" Sensing the information might be unsettling to the new Spark, Ratchet gave him a reassuring smile and stroked his helm. He was careful not to get in the way of Quickfire who was making short work of the little one's injury. The little one seemed so focused on Ratchet that he did not even flinch when an interface port was connected to his systems and began to scan his systems.

The Foundry Mech, however, was not so complacent. He looked at Ratchet aghast. "What?" he asked—well, squeaked was more like it. "What does that mean?"

Ratchet regarded him for a moment, having nearly forgotten he was there. "What does what mean?"

The Mech gestures vaguely to the Sparkling. "What he just said. What he just said…is your…_urth_ name?"

He nodded. "_Earth_ name. Yes. During my time on the planet called _Earth _by the natives, I chose a designation suitable enough for them to understand."

The poor Mech looked positively shocked at the announcement. "So…so the things he's been saying, all that gibberish…it's not really gibberish, then?"

Ratchet had the good grace to not smirk. The Foundry Mech was obviously having difficulty understanding just exactly what it meant that a new Spark knew things that by logic he should have no awareness of. "Well, all the 'gibberish' I've heard so far as been English," Ratchet explained. "I cannot tell you what this means or even how this is even possible, uh…I'm sorry I did not catch your name."

"Uh? Oh, Servo—but he doesn't know any other languages," said the Mech, more focused on his ward then simple pleasantries. Servo did not strike Ratchet as a Mech who was accustomed to bizarre situations. "He's not even a quarter vorn old!"

"Clearly that's not the case," Ratchet replied, putting in significant effort to not come off as pessimistic. "He does indeed appear to know some English, if only a few words."

"All scans are normal, no abnormalities or glitches were found," Quickfire disconnected the interface from the child. "He's perfectly healthy as far as my scans indicate."

"Healthy? You call that-that…_tantrum_ just now normal?"

Quickfire nodded to Servo. "As you said before. Your Sparkling is just…odd."

"I would not say odd so much as scared." Ratchet said.

Quickfire nodded. "He's never been to see a doctor before. I don't think he understands what we were trying to do."

The room became quiet then, all the Mechs seeming engrossed in their own thoughts, and logic relays began spinning furiously to cough up an answer to the puzzle. Ratchet's curiosity was spiking and the need to do something was near unbearable. There was no way he could allow Servo to take the Sparkling back to the Foundry after he was repaired. He needed to study the young one, to observe him for a time, and perhaps verify his suspicions for his unexplainable and surely impossible knowledge. "Quickfire," Ratchet said, effectively breaking the silence. "If it is agreeable with you as the overseeing physician, I would like to take the Sparking into observation for a few cycles."

Qickfire looked up towards Ratchet, seeming unsurprised at the request. "What are you hoping to find?"

"I cannot help but be curious about the child's knowledge. I have a hunch, but I need more information to verify it. I'd like to ask him some questions and watch him for a period of time and try to discern where this odd behavior originated."

Servo stepped in before Quickfire could answer. "It isn't just a personality trait, then?"

Ratchet gave a small shrug. "It could very well be just that. But the fact that he refuses to refuel properly leads me to believe it's something else. We're sparked with programming that tells us that we need Energon and we crave it from the moment we're alive. This one seems to be the rare exception. At the very least we may be able to cure him of it. It could be as simple as glitched code sequence." A thoughtful pause. "As for his knowledge…it may be a miraculous coincidence or it's possible the shell he was sparked into was not completely blank."

"You mean that someone could have tampered with it?" Servo asked.

"It's possible. Unlikely, but possible," said Ratchet, trying to reassure Servo that his ward was in no apparent danger. "I doubt any ill was intended. But again. I would also like to run a couple tests to rule out viruses or program glitches."

Quickfire shrugged. "I am alright with it if Servo is comfortable with leaving the kid here."

Both Mechs turned to the aforementioned individual for an answer. Servo did not speak for several long moments…

* * *

He was low on energy and his limbs felt heavy and useless. All movement slowed, but it did not bother him. Sam was content to lay against Ratchet's chest armor, calmed by the faint noises his systems made as he walked about down the hall. He felt so much at peace, a feeling he could no truly remember feeling since he was sparked. Instead of the perpetual sense of unfamiliarity and being in the midst of strangers, Sam felt as if he had arrived, like he was home. Or very soon would be.

His forehead was no longer dented and a fresh new paint job had left the sight spotless of the welding seems. Had anyone not known, they would have sworn he never had a dent to begin with. He wrapped his small hand around a finger of Ratchet's hand that was wrapped around him, as if to continuously assure himself that the neon yellow Mech was not like his dreams and would not abruptly disappear into faint memory.

Stay with me, the touch said. Please…stay with me.

A sense of calm like he never knew had overtaken him and all he was want to do was sit there and bask in the presence of the Mech. He was happiest he had ever been, even when he was playing with his puzzle boxes.

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked him. He could hear and feel the Mech's voice rumble from inside his chest and from his vocalizer. Sam looked up lazily into the medic's face.

"Hm…tired," he replied dazedly. "Wanna recharge…" Ratchet's hand left Sam's side and rose up to rub the side of his face affectionately and Sam pressed into the contact, whirling happily.

"I'm not surprised," the medic answered. "You've had a busy cycle, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Sam said, floating in a sea of contentment. "I found you. I didn't think I would…"

"Find me?" asked Ratchet curiously. "I did not realize I had been lost."

Sam giggled, pressing his face into the medic's hand. "Not you," Sam replied, a dazed mask drawing down over his face. He was so very tired all of a sudden. "Me. I was lost…"

"You were, were you? Well, where did you go, then?"

"Far away…I went far away," Sam felt himself slipping. "No one could follow…not you…or _Bumblebee_…or _Mikeala_…"

Sam's tired and rapidly slipping consciousness did not allow him to notice the not so subtle jerk of Ratchet's body as he halted to a stop in the middle of the hall way.

There was a long pause and he was slipping into recharge fast.

"…You…know about _Mikeala_?" Ratchet's voice grew fainter.

"…yeah…she's…my…?"

And he slipped into a deep recharge.


	5. Once We Reach the Stars

Author's Notes: Once again I would love to thank everyone for their wonderful support and reviews. Thank you also to everyone who fav'd/alerted me and/or this story. Thank you people. You are wonderful and I love you guys. I also apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors.

* * *

_**Aporia**_

By Lindsay Smith

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Chapter Four: Once We Reach the Stars

"There are many things that we would throw away if we were not afraid that others might pick them up." ~ Oscar Wilde

* * *

He woke up feeling fresh and alive. And eager.

The world returned to him in the form of a dim room. A_ dirty_ dim room where screens flickered with data that scrolled down in a seemingly never ending cascade. The space was full of very strange things that reminded him of his precious puzzle boxes. Sam made a whirling noise in amazement and stood. He was atop a table, laden with the strange objects. A small space there had been cleared for him to recharge on. Sam approached one of the objects and looked it over. Was it a puzzle box? It was like no other puzzle box he had ever seen. Maybe it was one designed for older Mechs. Feeling a bubble of excitement, he began to try and solve the strange puzzle.

Lost in his own little world, Sam did not hear the door to the room open and was only alerted to anyone's presence when he heard a yelp of alarm and the sound of rushing feet. Sam looked over his shoulder just in time to see a strange Mech rush up to him and lift him up and away from his toy. He whined in protest as he was pulled away.

"No, no, no," said the Mech, chuckling in discomfiture. "That's not a toy. Definitely not a toy."

"Puzzle!" Sam replied, pointing to it.

"No, little one, that is definitely NOT a puzzle," the Mech told him, setting Sam down atop of a table clear across the room. "Ratchet would dismember me if he saw you playing with that."

Sam perked up. "Ratchet?"

"Ratchet, yes. He'll be back soon. He's just making a few calls is all," the new Mech assured him. But Sam didn't appear to be listening anymore. He was staring at the Mech's head…he looked weird. He didn't have a face really, just optics. And there were things on the sides of his head and blinked as he spoke. "He told me to make sure you stayed out of trouble while he was gone."

"I don't get into trouble," Sam protested. "I don't like it."

"Well that's handy," he said. "Because I certainly don't either. Let me see if there's anything in here you can play with while I clean this place up a little better. You like puzzles?"

"Yes!" Sam watched as the strange Mech tore through the room, lifting up large objects to look underneath and continued to mutter to himself. He bent low to look under a table and made an 'Ah-ha!' noise. Reaching out and grabbing something from within the mess inside, he rose up…forgetting the top of the table was still overhead.

A string of words Sam had never heard before fluttered from the Mech's vocalizer at a rate that made it hard to truly hear them. Despite himself, Sam laughed. But when the Mech stood and looked over at him, Sam abruptly quieted down.

"Thought that was funny, did you?" he asked, no where near as amused as Sam was. "Huh?"

"No…" Sam replied meekly, shrinking away. Walking up to him, the Mech held out his hand to reveal a puzzle box. A very old and dirty puzzle box.

"Good," he told him. "Because that would be very rude."

"Puzzle!" Sam reached out and grabbed the toy, fervently looking it over and moving the parts around the cube, trying to solve the abstract algorithms that made the puzzles so interesting.

Above him, the Mech laughed. "I guess you really do like puzzles. Heh, I liked them when I was a new Spark too. But that was a long time ago."

Sam looked up. "You're really really old?"

The Mech was still for a moment, shoulders hunched ever so slightly. "I'm not _that _old…"

* * *

Ratchet was exhausted. He had been seated at his consol for joors and was in need of some good high grade and some recharge time. But he fought back his body's demands and continued on looking over the data. Despite the misconception that both Quickfire and Servo were under, D-17's symptoms were not at all uncommon. In fact, one could say they were as common place now as a dented fender.

But only a few select individuals were aware of it. Ratchet was one of the included.

He remembered the year, month, day, hour, minute, and very second that the new Allspark came into being. It was a horrible day, one that still ate away at him. A life so small and precious withered away in agony into something that should have been wonderful. In the grand scheme of things, the event was considered a miracle for the Cybertronian race…but Ratchet was not one to believe in miracles. He was not one to concentrate solely on the larger image; the truth was hidden amongst the details. Sam had been a dear friend, comrade, son, and lover. His death left a shadow that hung over everyone until the time the Autobots left Earth.

Mikeala was never truly the same afterwards…as far as she was concerned, she had died with Sam that day. Ratchet had found himself hoping that the Human's 'heaven' existed if only so that once Mikeala passed, she and Sam could be together for eternity. Was it wrong to hold such hope in such nonsense? Ratchet knew there was no such joyous reunion awaiting them. Mikeala, as human do, eventually succumbed to time and passed away. She was 87, had never married, and had lived a full life. More so then many humans could boast. Her passing was not as hard on everyone as Sam's had been. Not that her death was not sad, they would miss her as they did the boy. But she had been granted her fair share of life, while's Sam had been so unfairly ripped away.

As Sam's body had cooled of his life's heat and the crystals overtook him, they left only the Allspark. A green cumbersome mess of hard, green crystal that was beautiful in its own way. And yet, it was also terribly hideous to those who knew its secret.

Ratchet remembered the first Sparkling ever birthed from it: a dainty green Mech that was called A-1, but was later named Riptide. He was a Lieutenant in the Cybertronian Armada now, serving directly under Optimus Prime. Optimus had taken a special liking to the Sparkling the moment he was sparked, as most Autobots did, and it was him who eventually came to adopt the child. He had been a star from the moment he was sparked. His life was something akin to the Human's celebrities. His life was tracked and recorded. He was a fine Mech, well rounded despite all the attention, and was as much an Autobot as any seasoned warrior. Ironhide too took a special liking to him as did Ratchet. Bumblebee did as well…at least at first.

The first signs of the 'glitch' appeared after Riptide's first upgrade. His recharges became disturbed and the young one had reported that he had seen images and lived through battles he had never been involved in, all while in recharge. The strange glitch had them all worried. It was after some probing that it was finally decided that the images Riptide was seeing…were memories. But not his own; they were Sam's. The battle of Mission City and his first encounter with Barricade…Riptide was seeing it all through Sam's eyes. He felt what Sam had felt; pain, love, fear…

Needless to say, everyone was baffled and more then a little alarmed.

The idea that Sam's consciousness had somehow survived his own death and had resided inside the new Allspark though had brought such hope to those who had known the boy. Especially Bumblebee.

But alas…it was not Sam.

Bumblebee was crushed by the discovery, but held onto the hope that perhaps Sam would return in some way to him. If his memories could survive and be passed on…so could his soul. When another Sparkling came to Ratchet displaying similar symptoms to what Riptide had experienced, Bumblebee became all the more excited…only to be crushed once more. It was still not Sam…only residual memories of a pitifully short life…one the scout had held so dear and still did.

Case after case, none of the Sparklings brought to Ratchet ever turned out to be the real Sam; only new Sparks who possessed the memories of an individual who was long dead.

There came a time when the poor scout could not take the disappointment any more and he left the Armada to serve as the assistant engineer on a maintenance vessel, away from the war, the Sparklings, and the Allspark. Ratchet remembered the last Sparkling to come to him very well. The little femme was a darling little child as anyone would expect. But she had been cursed with the worse memory of them all. For whenever she slipped into recharged, she relived Sam's death over and over. The stress grated on her, making her very sick. She became weak and paranoid and would cling to her guardians in fright when approached by a Mech she did not know.

Despite it all, the problem was fixable by a data purge. It was a risky procedure, but they all had been successful. None of the previous ailing sparks suffered from the memories any more. They were gone. Lost to time…

It had been nearly five vorns since the last Sparkling appeared, showing any symptoms. But now there was D-17. An odd little charcoal grey Mech who did not like the taste of Energon and had green optics. But unlike the others, D-17 did not just display similar symptoms…he knew things. He seemed utterly convinced he knew them too. He did not appear to treat them as something strange, but he appeared to embrace them as his own. None of the others had done that. He knew Ratchet's earthen name…Bumblebee's too. He had even mentioned Mikeala. None of the previous cases ever came close to such things. Not only that, but he down right demanded to be called Sam.

"_Sam_…" It had been so long since he had said the boy's name; it felt stale on his lips.

As compelling as it all was, Ratchet knew he had to be careful as he proceeded. Regardless of how much the Sparkling knew, it could still be mere residual information passed from the Allspark to the shell. There was only one way to verify without a shred of doubt that it was Sam.

And for that he needed Bumblebee. However…

He needed solid proof to convince Bumblebee to even consider coming down. He needed evidence that Sam's consciousness, his _soul_, had survived death and was now incased in a small bundle of metal and wires. With green optics. It would not be easy.

Ratchet mused to himself. Green optics. Sam's eyes had mutated during his illness, turning them bright green. Like D-17.

What would prove that D-17 was Sam and not another odd case for the files…?

* * *

"Done!" Sam said cheerfully and placed the solved puzzle box down on the table top. Wheeljack had been engrossed in his own work, but looked over his shoulder to see, once more, a finished puzzle box. He found himself befuddled by the site. "That's the fifth one in the last two breems!"

Sam beamed with pride, a wide grin on his small face. "I like puzzles."

"Primus," said Wheeljack as he rose from his seat to inspect the child's work. The kid was certainly baffling. There was nothing normal about him it seemed. Despite all his characteristics some might label as flaws, he was exceptionally bright. "The academy's going to love you when you're old enough to go."

"Where's Ratchet?" Sam asked abruptly.

"He'll be back soon, don't worry," Wheeljack told him, trying to assure Sam. "He has some things to do."

"When will he get back?" Sam's voice had taken on a worried tone, as if the puzzle had distracted him from the fact that the medic was not around. It worried him. Wheeljack picked up on the sudden shift in tone and the subtle way the Sparklings posture changed from a state of happy confidence to worried and insecure. He reached out to pat the child on the head, to reassure him again that Ratchet would return due promptly, but he was surprised when Sam jerked away as if he had been bitten.

"Where is Ratchet?" Sam asked again, near hysterics. He looked around the room as if the neon yellow Mech were hiding and would pop out at any moment.

He didn't.

Poor Wheeljack was at an utter loss of what to do. If he reiterated his earlier answer, he had a strong suspicion that it would do no good, perhaps only make it worse. It was curious. Just a second ago, Sam was calm and happy until the distraction wore off…and he realized Ratchet was not there. Separation anxiety perhaps? It was not a common occurrence amongst Cybertronians, but it was not entirely unheard of. Some Sparklings were simply insecure and required some sort of pacifier to calm their anxiety. Most of the time it was a toy of some sort. With Sam, his pacifier was his puzzles. The only problem with that however, was that at one point the puzzle would be solved and would no longer pacify. He needed to find another, one that would remain a constant.

"Don't be scared," Wheeljack said as cheerfully as he could muster. "Ratchet wanted me to watch you until he got back. Is that OK?"

Sam's optics burned with emotion and he looked Wheeljack over. "You're unfamiliar though…"

Wheeljack had no ready response for that. Unfamiliar? What did that mean? "I am?"

Sam nodded meekly. "You feel different."

"Does that scare you?" Wheeljack asked.

Sam did not answer right away. He seemed confused by the question, or maybe he had never actually thought about it. "Kind of," he said eventually. "I like it better when someone feels familiar…"

"Like Ratchet?" Wheeljack silently send a message to Ratchet over the channels to hurry back as soon as he could as Sam seemed close to another tantrum. He received an affirmative reply, but no clarification.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry if I scare you," Wheeljack said, trying to keep the conversation flowing. Perhaps if he got Sam to talk openly, it would delay the meltdown. "I scare a lot of people without meaning to. You can tell me if you feel uncomfortable, OK?"

Sam seemed bewildered by Wheeljack's proclamation. Obviously no one had taken any real time to talk to the little guy. Which was not all that surprising. Most Mechs talked _at_ young ones instead of talking _to_ them. He nodded slowly. "So, you're name is _Sam_, right?"

The Sparkling nodded and then pointed at the engineer. "Wheeljack."

"That's right. I'm Ratchet's friend."

"Friend?"

"Yep. I've known him for a long time. And if you think I'm old, Ratchet's older." Sam seemed to find that very amusing and to Wheeljack's relief, he smiled. "So, what about at the Foundry? Are they familiar to you?"

Curiously enough, Sam's expression fell and he looked…sad. "Everyone feels different there. Servo tries to be nice to me, but he's still different. He doesn't understand…"

Wheeljack pulled up a chair and sat down. "Does playing with your puzzles make you feel better?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, grabbing his feet and rocking back and forth. It was an odd gesture, Wheeljack thought. "They think I'm weird though…"

The engineer could not help but pity Sam. He was not weird. He was just a very lonely, very insecure young Spark. "You're not weird," he told Sam kindly. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Sam looked up at Wheeljack, his green optics telling the Mech he did not believe him. "They said I was weird."

"Who did?"

"Some of the others," Sam answered, hunching his shoulders and drawing himself up into a ball. "And D-14."

Wheeljack wanted to comfort the child, but he knew that should he try to touch him, Sam would most certainly jerk away. He was talking instead of wailing, so they were heading down the right path for the moment at least. "Who is that?"

"She's the one who hurt me." Sam held a hand up and rubbed his forehead, remembering the incident.

"Oh, well that wasn't very nice of her," Wheeljack said to him sympathetically. "Why did she do that?"

"She called me weird and said no one would want to adopt me because I'm not like everyone else."

The engineer nodded slowly. "I bet that made you mad, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam replied meekly, now having completely rolled himself up into a fetal position. "I told her no one would want her either because she's mean. And she threw a puzzle box at me."

Wheeljack did not say anything for a while, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the child, to comfort him. But he did not get the chance as Ratchet re-entered the room at that moment and the tightly wound tension of the room evaporated. Wheeljack noticed how very tired his old friend looked. Sam did not notice and was on his feet instantaneously, toddling over to the edge of the table. His little face positively radiated with joy.

"_Ratchet_!" he called, raising his arms to be picked up. "Where did you go?"

Ratchet paused for a moment as if considering something and then reached out and picked Sam up. The Sparkling curled himself up again and pressed himself into Ratchet's armor. Wheeljack did not bother muffling his amusement. Ratchet only sent him the barest of glares before striding across the room, Sparkling in tow. He found a table in the back and sat Sam down before finding a chair and bringing it over.

"I need to ask you some questions, _Sam_. Is that OK?"

"Yeah," said the child, far more relaxed and happy then only a few moments ago when he had been alone with Wheeljack. It was like flipping a coin. "What did you want to ask me?"

"A lot of things," Ratchet replied very calmly. "Starting off with these dreams you mentioned…"


	6. New Wounds and Old Scars

Author's Notes: Once more, I am endlessly grateful for all your reviews and support. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and again, apologies for any spelling or grammar boo-boos. (◕ ◡ ◕)

* * *

_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

_**

* * *

**_

Chapter Five: New Wounds and Old Scars.

"The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." ~ Mark Twain

* * *

"We'll be in shape for cast off in one Orn," bellowed Captain Nitro as he addressed his crew who stood before him in a straight line. They were not a military ship, but the way in which Nitro ran it, it might as well have been.

"Enjoy your off time and be ready to work when you get back."

Nitro turned back around and headed towards the docks to oversee the repair and restocking of his ship. The crew wasted little time in dispersing to enjoy their small resting period. The head engineer Crank walked along beside his assistant as he rolled his shoulder, wincing at the non-fluidity of the movement. "What I need," he said. "Is some premium high grade and some place to sit. And to get my blasted shoulder bearing fixed."

His assistant looked over at him, optics twinkling in amusement. "Why not just have Nitro look at it? He had medical programming doesn't he?"

The Mech laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Nitro has as much finesse as a one legged droid with rusted stabilizers," He said. "He's a good captain and a great shot, but slag if I ever let him near me or my joints with any sort of medical tool."

The two of them walked along, their optics soaking up the view as they left the docks and entered the city. Although it had been only about seven orns since they had last seen their home, the sight of it alone was enough to relax their Sparks. Working aboard Nitro's Ship was not easy work and it was a constant grind. There was always something that needed to be fixed and it was nice to be able to get away if only for a small amount of time and bask in the fact that for the time being, the repairs would be someone's else's problem.

"Now that you mention it," the assistant said musingly. "I never have seen him repair any of the equipment."

Crank laughed again and slapped the younger 'Bot on the back. "Exactly! All he does is yell and shoot. That's the kind of guy he is and it's up to lowly maintenance Mechs like ourselves to make the Captain look good."

The assistant sighed deeply as they turned a corner. Up ahead, a local watering hole stood with loitering Mechs around it's entrance. The pair headed straight for it. "What happened to the days when commanding officers were Mechs to be respected?"

"That's in the big leagues, kid, integrity doesn't drip this low to our level. Besides," Crank replied wistfully as they entered. They commandeered a pair of seats at the bar and motioned to the tender. The service droid rolled down their way and sat two full cubes of Energon in front of them.

Crank grabbed his up and took a long swing. When he emerged, he pinned the younger Mech with look. "You're not there anymore, kid. You left that world a long time ago."

Bumblebee was silent for a moment as he gazed into his own cube, processor swirling with his thoughts. "Yeah…I know."

It was then at that moment, irony smiled puckishly down upon him and his communications link pinged with a new message.

It was from Ratchet.

* * *

"I don't want it!"

Ratchet had to reach out and grab the young Mech by the scuff bar behind his neck to keep him from running off…again. Surely getting the child to refuel was not normally this infuriating. Servo had mentioned using a direct line, but Ratchet was having none of that. If Sam was not going to refuel properly and willingly, Ratchet would make him. He had to think of something else though. Asking politely had not worked.

The medic swung the wiggling Sparkling under one arm and marched him back to the table top from where he had escaped initially. He sat the Sparkling down in the middle firmly. Not hard enough to harm him, but enough to catch his attention.

"Now see here scraplet," said Ratchet in a stiff tone. "You have to learn to refuel like everyone else. I'm not going to coddle you through this like the Caretakers have done."

Ratchet placed the canister of Energon in front of Sam, his optics hard and very serious. "Drink it." he said.

Sam seemed bewildered by Ratchet's tone. "But…I don't…"

"I do not care if you do not like it. You need it. I'm not going to argue."

The child studied the canister for several moments, looking almost afraid of it. Tentatively he reached out and Ratchet allowed himself to feel the faintest drop of hope…until Sam swipped the canister off the table. Ratchet started and scrambled to grab the falling canister.

"No!" Sam yelled and made another break for it while Ratchet was distracted. Ratchet caught the canister just before it crashed to the floor and he stood up and glared at the fleeing Sparkling. He was in no mood for games.

"_Samuel James Witwicky_!" He yelled more out of reflex then anything.

Something odd happened then. The child, in the middle of his fleeing…stopped cold. And he stood there. Ratchet caught onto the odd motion and slowly approached Sam. When he neared, the child had yet to turn around. "_Sam_?"

At his name, Sam turned his head and looked up. His optics were distant and he looked confused.

"What's wrong?" Ratchet asked, bending down. He was not sure whether any of this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"…_Dad_ use to call me that…when I was in trouble," Sam replied slowly. Something hit him then and the small Sparkling crumbled under his own weight. Ratchet caught him by the arm and hauled him back up to his feet. The Sparkling reacted by pressing himself close to Ratchet's leg. When he spoke again, his voice was small and pained. "I don't like getting in trouble…"

Ratchet had no answer for that. Instead, he reached around and scooped him up. The Mech stood and walked slowly back to the table. Just as he was about to set Sam down, the little form curled in on itself and pressed tightly into his armor. "…_Ratchet_?"

"Yes, _Sam_?"

"…I want _Bumblebee_…"

Instead of setting the child down, Ratchet found a seat and sat down, allowing Sam to burrow himself into his armor. "I know, Sparkling," he said quietly. "I know."

* * *

"Do you believe in _reincarnation_, Ironhide?"

The question came so far out of the context to their conversation, Ironhide found himself in the rare position of being caught off guard. Always one to keep his head, Ironhide replied in his usually manner. "What're spouting now Jolt?"

The two Mechs walked along the corridor aboard the Cybertronian Armada's flag ship, its gleaming metal halls disguised the deadly potential all around. It was a formidable vessel that had withstood the barrage of the Decepticon Rebels and won on repeated occasions. Ironhide was a proud member of the commanding crew, second in command below Optimus Prime. He walked the halls of the ship as if he were ruler of it. Jolt, however, held no such grand position and was, as he had always been, a foot soldier. He could have climbed the bureaucratic ladder Vorns ago, but he was a Mech of simple pleasures and was not one to desire grand things. He liked his lot in life and wished to keep it as such. However, that did not stop him from rubbing elbows with the best of them. Ironhide and Jolt had been good friends ever since _Earth_.

"You remember what _reincarnation _is, don't you?" Jolt asked.

"_Reincarnation _is a Human concept," Ironhide replied. "Half the slag they come up with makes no sense. Even with all that time we spent on _Earth_, I still don't fully understand their species."

"It's the belief that when we die, we will be reborn into something new," Jolt replied wistfully. "Whether you were bad or good in this life dictated what you would become in the next."

"I thought their thinking was: good people go up and the bad people go down," Ironhide replied. "That's what I remember of it anyway."

"You're thinking of Christianity," said Jolt. "Reincarnation is a concept found in Eastern religions."

"Religion is the creation of weaker minded species to explain the world in a context their primitive minds can understand. I put no metal in any of it."

"When did you become such a pessimist?"

Ironhide growled in frustration. He was growing bored with the current topic. "Is there a point to all of this or were you just feeling nostalgic?"

"Yes," Jolt replied. "I have a point."

"Then make it. You're annoying me."

Jolt did not bother hiding his amusement. "When I was on Cybertron on that assignment," he explained. "I ran into a Foundry Mech on the Tran who had a Sparkling with him."

Ironhide glanced at his companions askance. "And this matters why?"

Jolt met his friend's gaze. "He had green optics."

"Who? The Mech or the scraplet?"

"The Sparkling."

"And?" Ironhide shrugged.

The blue Mech was undeterred or irritated by Ironhide's brashness; rather it was one reason why he had taken such a liking to the old bot. He was his exact opposite. It made for interesting conversation, although most of the time it looked as though they were arguing. "I talked to them a little and the child asked me something very peculiar."

"What you and I consider peculiar," added Ironhide. "…are two very different things."

With a piercing look, Jolt said, "He asked me if I knew _Bumblebee_."

That stopped Ironhide. "That is particular…" he conceded. Jolt nodded, glad to hear the Mech was as intrigued as he was. "But nothing special," Ironhide added. "We've seen Sparklings with the boy's memories before. What makes this one any different?"

Alright, maybe he should have expected Ironhide to be more skeptical. It was a stretch, but Jolt felt confident that what he saw that day was not mere memories, but the real thing. "He told me his name was _Sam_."

Ironhide was still not convinced. "So the kid has a lot of leftover memories..."

"I believe it was him."

Ironhide paused in his stride and turned to face Jolt, skepticism radiating off his face plate. "So you think that Sparkling was _Sam_?"

Jolt nodded. "I do."

"Well, you're wrong," Ironhide replied gruffly and continued to march onwards, a little stiffer then before. They approached the command room and Ironhide continued on, but Jolt stopped. He was not authorized to enter the bridge. "Sam died a long time ago, as did all those Humans we knew back then. The sooner you and the others get that through your processors the sooner we can move on with our lives."

And with that, Ironhide disappeared into the room beyond.

Jolt sighed. "Oh Ironhide," he said to himself and the empty hall way. "You act so tough and emotionless, but we all know you miss them as much as the rest of us do."

* * *

The latest round of tests revealed nothing substantial. Spark scans came back normal aside from a small anomaly, but Ratchet did not see a need to look into it. Sparks were remarkably unique and it was common for anomalys to show up every once in a while. His processor function was at normal level for his age and all systems were operating at optimum capacity. All signs indicated plainly that Sam was a perfectly healthy young Spark. But Ratchet was still worried.

While conducting the scans earlier that cycle, a thought had struck him. Regardless of whether or not the young Spark turned out to truly be Sam, he believed he was. In his young mind, there was no questioning it. And yet, what if ultimately he turned out to be another corrupted spark in need of a memory purge? What would that do to him? His exposure was massive, so much so that a purge could risk wiping his entire processor. If they did not purge the memories, the child would eventually reach the age where he understood death and the reason why so many people he had phantom memories of were gone. It could possibly begin to adversely affect him and stress out his systems. His mental health could be in jeopardy.

Ratchet dreaded the outcome of the final test. Bumblebee's verdict would quite literally be the deciding factor on Sam's life.

He re-entered the lab, mind still swirling with concern, when he felt the now familiar sensation of tiny Sparkling hands on his armor. Sam, like nearly every other time, had sprung from out of no where to latch himself onto Ratchet's leg. The novelty was wearing off and Ratchet felt his patience waning. He looked down at the ball of charcoal metal. "What happened this time?"

"You said you would be back _soon_!" Sam protested, little fingers digging into sensitive wires behind his knee plate. Ratchet winced and tried to endure the uncomfortable sensation. Sam did not noticed and saw no need to release his hold.

"I'm back now," Ratchet replied, "So what's wrong?"

"Too long!" Sam cried. "You were gone too long!"

First Aid, who Ratchet had left in charge of Sam while he conducted some tests, emerged from the back room looking stressed and in need of some Energon. "He has some separation issues I think."

"Indeed." Ratchet agreed and walked into the room with Sam still clutched to his shin, giggling. "Wheeljack informed me that he had similar problems while watching him."

"I contacted Servo earlier to see if this was normal for him," First Aid said, walking over to stand beside his mentor and to see the results of the tests for himself. "He was surprised. Worried too I'd say. He said D-17 never displayed any sort of offense to being alone. From what he told me, it's always been the direct opposite."

"_Sam_!" Was the offended protest from the floor. "My name's _Sam_! Not D-17!"

"Yes," First Aid said patiently, but did not look at him. "We know."

Ratchet was quite for a moment. "Curious," he muttered, "Very curious. Why such a change?"

"Because you're _Ratchet_!" Sam replied as if it were obvious. "It's better when you're around!"

The medic sighed, wishing the Sparkling had the proper grasp of language and logic to properly explain what that meant. "Of course," he sighed, "It's all so clear."

Sam apparently was also too young to recognize sarcasm as he looked very proud of himself and, thankfully, removed himself from Ratchet's leg. But then, to Ratchet's chagrin, began to try and climb up his side. Feeling the last wisps of his patience fluttering away like the proverbial wings of a bird, Ratchet reached down and pulled the Sparkling up, tucking him under his arm. "Stay still a moment," he told Sam. "I need to think."

Sam did not seem to care either way and contently hung in the crook of the medic's elbow, chirping and whirling happily to himself.

* * *

What was he doing here again? He had sworn to himself he would never do this again. His spark could not take the empty feeling that all but consumed him when he answered Ratchet's hails.

Another Sparkling. Another disappointment. Another period of self loathing and regret and grief. Another struggle to move one… Why was he here? Why was he doing this to himself?

Because he missed Sam. No matter how much time had passed, those few years he had spent as the guardian to that young organic, innocent and wholeheartedly loyal…he missed their Sunday drives, talking about their cultures and past. He missed how Sam would look at him with those wide brown eyes and he would know that Sam trusted him, that he was his friend. He missed it all. That brief time that despite the fighting…it was the most peaceful time Bumblebee could recall.

If there was the slightest chance that Sam was…

No. _No_. He wasn't going to do it. He had made his peace and had left all of that doubt inside a little preverbal box, locked away somewhere deep in his processor. He was going run himself to rust prematurely if he continued on this way.

He wasn't going to…and yet…

He did not know how long he stood in that hallway, indecision wreaking havoc on his systems. Several times now he had reached out a hesitant hand to the control panel beside the door and several times he had pulled away and all but stomped away from the door, the building, the city...only to rush back to the door and start the processor anew.

He had an undeniable urge to get away and yet his feet were lead, melted to the floor and would not allow him to move.

Sam. His Sam. If only…

How much he missed the boy. From the day he had met him, he had know the human's life span would be painfully short in ratio to his own. But how it ended being so short for even humans…he would never forgive the one who decided that was fair. The pain never left him and he was certain it never would.

The possibility, however slight, that it might be Sam…

He was scared and hopeful, desperately so, and for all the world and all the horrible things that happened…he prayed that it was Sam.

Bumblebee pressed the key pad and the door to Ratchet's lab opened.

* * *

Sam stiffened under Ratchet's arm. The Medic noticed the motion but did not think anything of it until the little spark began to wiggle violently. The child was much stronger then Ratchet would have thought.

"I want down!" Sam said urgently, trying to pull himself from Ratchet's arm.

"What? No, stay still, I'm…"

"DOWN!" Sam all but screamed and was successful in freeing himself. He tumbled to the floor and rolled, but was on his feet in moments and running for the door.

"Hey!" Both Ratchet and First Aid gave chase. The door abruptly opened, causing the two Mechs to pause. Both froze and looked up to see a yellow and steel grey Mech standing there. Sam however did not stop and immediately rushed to him and grabbed onto the new Mech's legs, vocalizer whirling and chirping in joy to the point where the Sparkling could not form actual words.

Ratchet straightened and regarded the startled Mech who was looking down at Sam with an expression of borderline horror. Ratchet took a careful step forward, the delicacy of the situation demanded it. "Bumblebee…"

Sam was ecstatic, nuzzling Bumblebee's knee plate and practically purring. Ratchet felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight. He stepped up to greet his old friend, but froze when he saw the former scout's expression. Something was not right. "Bumblebee?" He asked. Bumblebee was staring down at Sam, not moving, just staring. He looked alarmed.

"Bumblebee, if you could, I'd like you to…" before Ratchet could finish, the yellow Mech crouched down and picked Sam up and stood him on his feet in front of him…and then backed up a step. And then another. And another.

The room grew colder with every step and each one seemed to echo hauntingly. Ratchet felt his spark drop and a wave of sadness swept across him. Not again…

"It's not him," Bumblebee's voice said simply, tone nearly flat. "It's not _Sam_." But the slight inflection said everything and Ratchet send a private message to the scout, his words encased in sympathy and mutual grief and disappointment.

:I'm so sorry Bumblebee. We were so sure this time…I know how much this hurts you.:

:It's alright Ratchet. You tried…but I'm tired of playing this game.:

All of the subtlety was lost on Sam who stood in the middle of the threshold, looking very bewildered. "_Bumblebee_?" His voice was small and concerned. He took a small step forward, small hands held abreast as if he was not sure what to do with them. The Yellow Mech looked at the Sparkling with such incredible sadness it was nearly palpable. Sam didn't understand. He took another step forward, arms out reached now.

"_Bumblebee_?" His voice had a frayed sound to it, panic just below the surface. The yellow Mech backed away from him.

"No," he told the Sparkling. "I'm sorry."

And then Bumblebee turned away.

"_BUMBLEBEE_!" Sam bolted after the Mech, catching up to him easily and latched onto the back of his leg before he could get very far. Every insecurity, every fear, every emotion inside of him burst open like a wave and consumed Sam. He was hysterical, desperate, and he begged his guardian not to leave. "_BUMBLEBEE_! Please! Please don't leave me again! PLEASE!"

He felt familiar hands reach out and lift him up and for the briefest moments he thought Bumblebee had decided to stay. Sam was handed back to Ratchet and he began to wail. Ratchet held him firmly as he tried to wiggle free, calling out Bumblebee's name as he disappeared down the hall and was gone. "You promised!" He shouted, feeling his systems heat up. "YOU PROMISED!"

Sam's mind exploded with thoughts and emotions that swept him away and he no longer became aware of his movement or what he said. White overtook his vision and the world disappeared.

* * *

Author's Notes (2) - I suppose you all hate me right now, huh? (°∀°)


	7. Deny Thy Love and Embrace Thy Death

Author's Notes: I love you guys. Really, I do. The past week and a half has been very trying with my new job and my Grandpa falling terminally ill and I just wanted to let you all how much I appreciate your support with this story and any of my other stories.

* * *

_**Aporia **_

By Lindsay Smith

_**

* * *

**_

_Chapter Six: Deny Thy Love and Embrace Thy Death._

"What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies." ~_ Aristotle

* * *

_

The streets were alive with energy, laughter, and everything that made the city great. All that had been lost before Cybertron's restoration had been renewed. But Bumblebee felt dead inside. After leaving Ratchet's lab, he sauntered into the nearest pub and began to drown himself in cheap high grade. It was awful stuff, but taste was not high on his priority list. He could still hear the Sparkling's voice crying out at him.

"_You promised!"_

It ate away at him like acid. He was acting illogically, he knew. He just did not know why. The moment his optics befell the small grey Mech…his spark ached more then it ever had with any of the other Sparklings. His programming logged it as an error and in a very uncharacteristic fashion…he had panicked. For whatever reason, he decided then and there that it was not Sam and it was best for him to leave as quickly as possible. He knew it had been a mistake to have gone there. It was always the same…

"_You promised!" _

Bumblebee downed the remaining high grade, shuddering at the sharpness of it and allowed the overcharge to sedate his rapidly spinning processor. The numbness helped, but his mind refused to relinquish the subject.

_The sound of a disturbed sleep alerted Bumblebee to the open window above. He unfurled himself from his Camaro alt mode and stood too peek inside. Sam's body gave a violent jerk in his bed and Bumblebee pressed himself to the side the house. He was mindful of Judy's flower beds beneath Sam's window. The boy's fever had broken mere hours ago, but now came the more metaphysical symptom of his condition: nightmares. It was a reoccurring event now-a-days as his ailment progressed. His mind was trying to protect itself from what they all knew was inevitable, but did not dare dwell upon. Sam was dieing…and Bumblebee was more then certain he would die with him. Their existence was linked and would be forever until the time that Bumblebee's spark extinguished. _

_It did not lessen the pain of knowing and being able to do nothing at all to save him._

_Bumblebee carefully reached into the room and ran a finger down the young man's back, a silent signal to let him know that he was near and whatever mental monsters were chasing him, they would not harm him. The touch broke Sam from whatever night terror had been plaguing him and he emerged pale and gasping. The particular nightmare must have been most alarming, because Sam did not appear fully in reality quiet yet. He flinched at Bumblebee's touch as if his fingers were claws reaching out to slice him clean through. The scout's hand retreated, not wanting to alarm his charge. Sam did not need any more pain or fear… _

"_Sam," Bumblebee called softly. Sam's eyes cleared and he was then aware of his surroundings. _

"_...Bee? Arhg…what was…what happened?" The boy rubbed at one eye with the back of his hand, groggy with lack of proper sleep._

"_You were having another nightmare," he said, tone soft and careful as if not wishing to remind Sam of any unpleasant sleep images. Sam was quiet as he sat there in his bed, one arm unconsciously rubbed at the crystal scales on his arm. Bumblebee felt wretched and useless. _

"_What was it about?" He asked. _

_Sam did not answer right away. "Monsters," he said finally, but withheld any elaborations. His heart rate picked up again and Bumblebee eased his arm back through the window, brushing Sam's shoulder lightly. Warmness sedated the coldness of the room, making it feel every so slightly less suffocating. _

"_I'll protect you from the monsters," Bumblebee told him in earnest. "They won't come near you."_

_When Sam turned to look at his guardian, there were tears in his eyes. "You promise?"_

"_I promise…"_

The sound of metal clashing shook Bumblebee from an apparent overcharge crash. His vision was clouded with error signals and warning banners and he had several messages. He ignored them all and looked around him. The pub was in the midst of a fight, tow large burly Mech going at each other in the far corner while patrons crowded around to cheer, jeer, drink, and be merry. Bumblebee felt like slag. Drowning his problems in high grade. Cheap high grade at that. It sounded so good beforehand, but now he regretted it. His systems ached and protested the smallest movements and his processor was slower then usual. He felt sluggish and in need of several cycles of recharge, despite having doubled his required fuel amount.

"Welcome back to the world of the processor impaired," said the tender behind the bar, leaning against the wall and tossing an empty cube between his hands. "You got quite a tab to pay, kid."

Bumblebee did not say a word, merely slapped down his credits and left. As he meandered down the street, another message joined the others in his HUD.

It was from Ratchet.

Bumblebee ignored it and continued on towards the docks. Only a few more cycles before he and the maintenance crew would ship off again to go repair damaged armada ships. Another orn, another credit; it felt empty.

* * *

Ratchet checked the screen for the third time and cursed darkly. Beside him First Aid and Wheeljack were busying themselves with other scans, but Ratchet knew the only one that mattered was the one he was looking at. The scan of Sam's spark revealed much more then the first initial scans. The moment Bumblebee left, Sam went hysterical, beyond anything Ratchet had seen. And then all at once, he had gone silent and limp. His processor had shut itself down to prevent a full system crash.

There was some damage to his processor that was easily repaired, but Sam was not out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.

The anomaly that Ratchet had ridden off as unimportant a few cycles prior was now very much so. The new set of scans had revealed the seemingly random glitch had morphed into something much more. A broken bond node. Suddenly Sam's behavior made all the more sense that Ratchet felt incredibly stupid for not making the connection. His insecure behavior, his panic attacks…he was reacting to a broken bond. Ratchet had 'felt familiar' to Sam, so in some small way it seemed to have placated the node and made Sam calm and manageable. But when he was not around, the bond node was agitated, making Sam feel panicky and scared.

Ratchet did not have to guess where the bond had come from or why it was broken, he could guess well enough, but the larger question was how could it be if D-17 was not Sam? Bumblebee had said so himself that he was not Sam. Bumblebee was the only one of the Earth bound Autobots to bond themselves to a human, although Ironhide had come very close to doing so with William Lennox. Bumblebee was the only one who would be able to tell if the spark inside a Sparkling's shell was Sam's. He would know instantaneously…

The answered came easily enough as Ratchet considered the situation and he grew angry. He sent several messages to Bumblebee telling him under no uncertain terms that he needed to return to the lab and properly judge whether or not D-17's spark matched the bond node he had created for Sam all those many years ago.

The child's life could very well hang in the balance. His mental health would deteriorate and his body would follow not long after. New sparks were unable to cope with broken bond nodes at such a young age. There were countless cases where a Sparkling would suddenly collapse following the death of a guardian and in most cases the child would eventually die or live on as a mere shell; empty and broken. They were not mature enough mentally or physically to handle the strain. A broken bond node for a Sparkling was very much a death sentence. Had Sam remained unaware of the connection as he had been while at the Foundry, had it remain sealed, he could have lived on not knowing his ailment and only knowing that everything felt hallow and never feeling completed. But now…he was in a very vulnerable state.

Ratchet sent one final, very _blunt_, message. "Bumblebee's still not answering hails," Ratchet growled when it went unanswered.

"What are we going to do?" First Aid asked. The younger Mech was clearly worried.

"I'm going to go find the glitch and drag him back here myself," Ratchet replied moving away from the table. He paused at the door and regarded his colleagues. "Keep him stable. And if anything changes, call me back. Send updates every quarter breem."

* * *

The world was made of white and it was bright. Too bright. Sam covered his eyes and…wait. Eyes? Startled, he looked down at himself and did not see a metal body, but one of flesh and…clothing. There were no gears or servos, just hands and feet and fingers. Five fingers. He got the overwhelming sense that this was right, in as much as switching bodies seemed to be right. His mind felt foggy all of a sudden but before he could muse any further, an urgent need rose up from inside him like a swelling of water.

Bumblebee.

He had to find Bumblebee.

"Bumblebee?" His voice sounded strange in the emptiness of white, but he pressed on. Perception was nil in this place Sam found as he walked forward, but as far as he knew or could tell he was walking in place. Maybe there was no where to get to. There did not seem to be anything here, but white. "Bumblebee!"

There was no echo to his voice either, as if he were shouting in a small closet. Worry crept at the edges of his mind. Where was he? How did he get there? How could he get out?

Bumblebee…where was Bumblebee?

Feeling tired and very much alarmed, like a young child lost at a super market, Sam turned in place, yelling as hard as he could. "Bumblebee!"

Nothing.

"BUMBLEBEE!" Sam screamed again as loud as his voice was capable, but it did not sound any louder then speaking normally. "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

"I am here."

Sam stopped and whirled around to see the familiar shape of the yellow Autobot, Camaro alt mode discernable amongst his frame. Relief spilled over and Sam ran for his friend. As he reached the Autobot's feet, and for reasons he was not entirely sure of, Sam began to cry.

Little by little, bits and pieces of information and memory began to congeal in his mind. "W-why?" Sam asked between sobs. "Why did you leave?"

Bumblebee did not answer right away, seeming unable to answer as he wrestled with some unspoken emotion. "I don't know," he said. There was a long pause broken only by Sam's sniffling. Then in one fluid motion, Bumblebee crouched down and scooped the small organic up into his hands, bringing his close to his face. His optics were luminous.

"You promised…"

"I failed," Bumblebee said. "I failed to protect you…and then you were gone. I miss you, Sam." Bumblebee's hands came up to curl around the human, warmth radiating from his palms as he cradled his charge. "I miss you every moment I am alive…"

"I'm sorry," Sam said, surprising Bumblebee a little. "I'm sorry I left you…I didn't want to…"

Bumblebee's blue optics swam with emotion. "I know you didn't. But I…"

The boy reached out and touched the Mech's face, brown eyes staring into his blue optics with an alarming seriousness. His eyes lightened and were no longer brown, but green. "I know it's hard…but please," Sam's hand began to ripple like water and suddenly it was no longer flesh and bone, but metal gears and servos. "Please come back. Come back to me…I waited so long for you…"

Sam's face was no longer that of a human, but of a Cybertronian Sparkling.

"Sam…"

"Please," said the Sparkling, "Please come back…"

* * *

Bumblebees optics flickered to life and he looked around to find himself in what appeared to be a storage closet. He did not remember how he got there. But he remembered a very strange dream. That in and of itself was odd. Cybertronians did not dream. Or if they did it was not the same as a human dream…and yet it had been so vivid.

His Spark felt strange and an odd sense of desperation and energy, a sense of purpose filled him. Shifting himself into a more comfortable position, his hand caught the side of a crate and before he knew it there came a rattling from above and then was promptly buried beneath falling crates. He struggled to free himself and the noise must have attracted the attention of a passerby, because the door opened just as Bumblebee managed to untangle his foot from the pile.

Captain Nitro stood in the doorway with the air of a thundercloud readying to unleash holy fury. Bumblebee shrank under the overbearing gaze. "You've got some bearings to show up here overcharged out of your processor…"

Bumblebee's demeanor deflated further. "I am sorry sir, I don't know what came over me. I was just…"

"I don't give a slag as to why, but if I find you in such a sorry state again, I'm tossing you off this crew. Prime recommendations be damned, I can't do a thing with you if you can't see straight enough to use a welder without saudering your arm to your aft!"

"Yes sir," replied Bumblebee, trying to appear as submissive as possible. Yes sir, right away sir, I'm an idiot sir, you're right sir, I'm wrong sir, whatever you say sir.

Nitro turned to leave, but paused as if he had just recalled something.

"Oh. And answer your hails already. Someone from the Hall's been calling the docks for nearly five joors looking for your sorry aft, saying you've been ignoring 'em. I don't care what this is all about, but fix it. I'm sick of all those messages clogging up communication lines."

The former scout was caught off guard and seeing the stern look of Nitro's face, he quickly agreed. "Yes sir, right away."

Nitro nodded and turn to leave once more. "And remember, we ship out in a couple joors so be back here by then and be ready to work." He left before Bumblebee could reply.

In the darkness of the closet, Bumblebee was left with only his thoughts. It took very little time before he came to a decision. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

Systems stable, spark energy low, but stable…

"Fuel level is low," First Aid said, breaking Ratchet from his thoughts. "Should I give him an infusion?"

The medic looked up from where he had been sitting, looking world wary and strained. The vorns were showing on his face. "There's a spare fuel line in the storage unit. Just give him a little. Too much might shock his systems."

First Aid nodded and made a move to go carry out his task, but paused, sending a concerned gaze over to him mentor. "It's not your fault, boss."

"It doesn't matter," Ratchet replied tiredly. "He's my patient."

Sam lay atop an examination berth, several machine connected to his small body, monitoring every fluctuation of systems. He had been offline for a while to keep his Spark energy from deteriorating any further.

"You couldn't find him anywhere?"

"For all I know he's hiding from me; which in the light of things could be very well plausible. His Captain didn't know where he was and he still hasn't answered any of my hails. I don't know what else to do…"

"Hope?" First Aid suggested feebly.

"I'm not one to put much faith in it," Ratchet replied.

"Well," First Aid said in a somewhat clipped tone, "It's all you can really do, so might as well give it a try…"

He went off to the storage unit to get the fuel line.

* * *

The Hall was a symbol of hope and rejuvenation, but at that moment he felt no awe inspiring emotion as he entered the structure. He felt as if the walls were closing in on him and every Mech he passed was eyeing him as if he were some suspicious character in need of being tracked.

Maybe he was. Bumblebee was certain he bore an expression of apprehension. Leaving the docks and arriving at the Hall of Ancients, Bumblebee had been filled with confidence and a stead fast determination. However, it drained away instantaneously the moment he stepped foot inside. Sense the new Allspark's energy had always made him feel wretched. He did not know why exactly, but he could guess. It made him think of Sam and that in and of itself made him feel ill.

During the war, he had lot so many friends and loyal comrades. He had seen many a Spark brutally extinguished right before his optics. Yet none of them had made him feel as empty as Sam's death. He wondered if this was the empty feeling Humans often spoke of when describing the loss of a child. If so, he certainly sympathized. Sam had not been his son, but he had very much felt like a little brother. And as the older brother, it was Bumblebee's duty to see to that no harm befell him.

He felt as if he had betrayed Sam's trust, even when there was no logical reason for him to feel that way.

No one could have told him anything to make it easier. Even Mikeala, while her heart was broken and bleeding, tried to tell him he was not at fault.

Then whose fault was it? Someone had to be responsible for it. If there was someone to blame, it far more easy to direct his anger and sorrow at them then it was screaming at empty air.

"Bumblebee?"

The voice startled him from his musings and he halted mid step, just in time to prevent colliding into Wheeljack. The engineer reached out and grabbed the former scout by the shoulders. "You came back! We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Bumblebee had the good grace to look ashamed. "I needed to think…"

"Yes, well forget thinking. We need you in the lab. Now." Wheeljack turned the yellow Mech in front of him and physically marched him down the hall at a fervent pace. "The kid crashed right after you left and we've been trying to keep him stable since!"

Bumblebee's spark shuddered. "Crashed? Is he…is he alright?"

"He has a broken bond node Bumblebee," Wheeljack said poignantly and with a very deliberate tone. Bumblebee could feel Wheeljack's optics studying the back of his head. "We need you to test again. For real this time."

"I'm sorry about before…I don't know what happened. I just…"

"Panicked? Yeah, we figured. Now stop yapping and move faster!"

* * *

The lab looked different then the last time he had been inside. It felt different. It was not so oppressive and daunting, but now it felt aloof and chilled as if all the good feeling had been sucked away, leaving only a vacuum of gloom and doom. And he felt utterly responsible.

The moment he stepped inside and the door closed behind them, a voice rang out from one of the back rooms. "Bumblebee, get your sorry aft over here I have some words for you!" It was then that Ratchet emerged from wherever it was he had been and stomped towards the younger Mech, displaying all the fury and ire he had the energy to convey. "You have some nerve ignoring hails like that you little fragger! I don't care what's going on in that shattered processor of yours but out of all the Mechs in the universe you were the last one I'd expect to see run away from something."

Bumblebee could not argue with the medic. He was right and it made him feel all the worse. "Do you have any idea what your little stunt did to that poor child?" Ratchet demanded.

He did not move and when he spoke it was with the utmost humility and shame. "I have no valid excuse."

"Darn right you don't!"

Wheeljack then stepped between the two. "Alright, I think we can save the lecture for another time. Bumblebee needs to reestablish that bond now before _Sam_ gets any worse." Ratchet looked reluctant to break off an obviously well rehearsed tirade, but he could not ignore his friend's logic and waved Bumblebee ahead of him, giving him a well earned shove in the shoulder to get him going. Bumblebee needed no prompting and went along with the others towards the back.

Sam was offline, his small body connected to several monitors and a fuel line had been injected into his side. Guilt swelled deep inside him and Bumblebee sighed despairingly. What had he done?

"Do what you need to do," Ratchet told him sternly and then both he and Ratchet left the room, closing the door behind them. Bumblebee was then left in the small room with the very thing that had caused him so much grief. Grief and joy and happiness and frustration, and laughter, and so many other things. The days he had spent as the guardian of Samuel James Witwicky were happy ones. When he had Sam, War was not the only reality to fill his mind. Sam had taught him that the War did not have to encompass his existence and define who he was. He was more then just Bumblebee the Autobot Scout. He was Bumblebee, a friend, guardian, and brother. He was more then what his designation and function.

It had always amused him the way Humanity put so much focus on trying to discern a reason for their existence, but then turned around and taught Bumblebee that he was not defined by one mere things…they were a wonderful race that way. With all their flaws and primitive behaviors, they were wonderful and wise and young. Everything Sam had been, even if he never realized any of it.

They were an aporia; an insoluble contradiction within themselves. And that made them wonderful.

That made Sam wonderful.

Sam.

_Sam._

"_Sam_…" Bumblebee reached out and tenderly traced the young face with the crook of one finger. "I am sorry. For so many things…"

He began to unplug the monitors from Sam's body, causing them to beep in alarm. Bumblebee pulled the prone form close to him, pressing his face close to Sam's and whispered, "Please forgive me…"

And then, he removed the block on the bond node he had created for Sam, far away and long ago. As he did so, he felt the old fear of discovering this Sam to be naught and it frightened him terribly to the point where for the briefest second he did not want to do any of it. But it was too late and the bond was free. He felt an enormous swelling of energy pour from his Spark like a broken dam and a wave of realization and magnificent feeling washed over him and the undeniable feeling of familiarity and connection filled him to the brink of overflow.

_Sam._

It was Sam. _His_ Sam.

He could not speak, he was in too much shock to really think, instead he simply stood there and marinated in the moment and the glorious sensation of the broken bond node being whole again. It was a wonderful feeling. All the anxiety and fear melted away as if it had never been and for the first time in a very long while, Bumblebee felt whole again.

Little arms came up and wrapped around his neck. "_Bumblebee_…"

"_Sam_!" Bumblebee clutched the Sparkling to his chest, feeling like he would never let go. Never. Never again. Ever.

"…you came back," Sam's voice was tired, but he could feel the same joy he felt at that moment radiate through his small body. Sam nuzzled his face into the underside of Bumblebee's chin, whirling happily and chirping. "I knew you would."

"I'm so sorry…"

"You came back…so I forgive you."

Bumblebee sat on the berth with Sam curled up in his arms for a long while, basking in the happiness that sang from their bond. They sat together in peace and were happy.

The world felt renewed and promising and Bumblebee knew that whatever came their way in the future, they would make it through together. He felt alive again and Sam finally felt like he was where he belonged and everything was right with the world.

The End.

* * *

Author's Notes: I can guess several of you going 'EEEHHHH?!!! THAT WAS IT?!!' but yes. This is the last chapter of Aporia. I had every intention for this to be a relativly short story seeing as I have noticed that if I make a story too long or too detailed in plot, it never seems to get done. Several of you can atest to that. But don't be too bumed. Aproia may be done, but the story is far from over.


End file.
